FT 

1819 


1907 


UC-NRLF 


30    DM0 


vX> 


o 


GIFT  OF 
Prof,  Rudolph  Altro cchi 


TWELVE  POEMS  BY  BARON  HUGO  VON 
BLOMBERG  -  POET  $f  PAINTER- 1820-1871 


TWELVE  POEMS 

BY 

BARON  HUGO  VON  BLOMBERG 

POET  AND  PAINTER 

1820 — 1871 


Copyright,  1907,  by  A.  M.  von  Blotnberg 


lf  (Sebidjte 

Don 

bent 


f}ucjo  ^reitjerr  von  Blomberg 

1820  —  1871 


The  English  translation  by  his  Daughter^  A.  M. 
von  Blomberg,  is  intended  only  for  those  readers  who 
know  no  German. 


t   .• 


/   /  /  o  n 


Die  engltfdpe  Uberfetjung  con  feiner  (Eocfyter  21.  JTl.  Don 
Blomberg  tfi  nur  fiir  biejemgen  £efcr  befttmmt,  n>el<^e  fctn 
Deutfd?  t»erfte^en» 


1 
M595718 


CONTENTS. 

1.  In  Childhood 

2.  The  Fiddler's  Song 

3.  The  Owl 

4.  Fire  at  Night 

5.  Summer-Dream 

6.  Past 

7.  The  Fir-Tree 

8.  What  Flies  in  the    Wind 

9.  The  Fairy  Glade 

10.  How  Children  Read 

11.  The    Virgin's  Picture 

12.  A  Dilemma 


Page 

8 

10 

14 

16 
18 

20 
22 
24 
26 
28 
32 
40 


@cite 

1.  Slug  ber  ^inbtyeit  9 

2.  giebelmanng  ©turmlieb  11 

3.  2)ie  @ule  15 

4.  ^a^tlid^er  Sranb  17 

5.  2lm  Ufer  19 

6.  SSergangen  21 

7.  $inbfyett3tanne  23 

8.  2Ba3  tm  SSinbe  fliegt  25 

9.  $>ie  ©Ifenbud^t  27 

10.  2Bie  bie  ^inber  lefen  29 

11.  @tn  3JlabonnenBilb  33 

12.  @tn  Dilemma  41 


In  Childhood. 

ONE  summer  evening  still  seems  like  to-day 
When  of  my  childhood's  deepest  joys  I  think 
I  hear  the  bells,  the  lowing  far  away 
Of  cattle,  turning  to  the  trough  to  drink. 

No  harvest-songs  now  in  the  quiet  lands, 
Long  rows  of  poplars  stretch  and  stretch  for  miles  ; 
Clear  o'er  the  tired  world  the  full  moon  stands 
As  on  the  cradle  a  young  mother  smiles. 

The  child  she  gazes  on,  it  seems,  am  I, 
My  mother's  face  the  bright  moon  seems  to  show, 
The  herd-bells  ring  like  a  soft  lullaby, 
The  poplars  rustle  in  the  evening-glow. 

Did  something  happen  that  one  night  to  me 
To  leave  its  picture  in  my  heart  ?    Ah  nay ! 
I  know  not,  nor  believe.     Sweet  memory 
Now  only  tells  me  that  I  lived  that  day. 


[8] 


HUB  der  Ktndbett. 

£in  <30mmerabenb  toirb  mir  oft  nrie  fyeut, 
2Benn  icfy  ber  lleinen  tiefen  5tinbfyeit  ben!e: 
gern  Ilingt  ber  §erbe  33lofen  unb  ©elaut, 
2)ie,  fyetmgefefyrt,  fidf>  fc^art  gur  Slbenbtranle. 


tne^r  t)om  ftilTen  gelb! 
3um  §ort^ont  ge^n  lange  ^appelguge  : 
5Der  SSoIImonb  lac^elt  auf  bie  miibe  3KeIt, 
toie  ein  9}lutterantli^  auf  bie  SBiege. 


biinlt,  id^  fei  ba§  $inb,  nac^  bem  er  fie^t, 
Unb  meiner  Gutter  3lntli|  fei  bag  ©eine: 
3)ie  ©lotftt^en  tauten  it>ie  ein  SSiegenlieb, 
toefyen  (eif  im  Slbenbfc^eine. 


Db  jenen  Stbenb  2Bic^tige§ 

ifyn  fo  tief  ing  junge  §er$  gegraben? 

)ei^  —  id)  glaub'  e§  nid^t.     @r  liefi  mir  ja 

fii^  (Srinnern,  i^n  gelebt 


[9] 


The  Fiddler's  Song. 

THROUGH  rain  and  through  wind, 
Half  deaf  and  half  blind, 
The  fiddler  is  toiling  along. 
How  bitterly  cold 
Through  his  cloak  thin  and  old 
Blows  the  gale  a  wild  tune  to  his  song ! 

"  Ye  mortals,  who  claim 
To  have  fortune  and  fame, 
Sleep  well !   Lull  yourselves  in  vain  dreams ! 
How  festive  the  ball! 
How  brilliant  the  hall ! 
Would  happiness  were  what  it  seems ! 

"  The  cup  with  a  crash 
To  pieces  they  dash, 
A  fool  he  who  weeps  o'er  the  end ! 
Dame  Fortune  is  blind, 
Love's  a  child,  never  mind ! 
Reaper  Death  is  the  only  true  friend. 

"  Heigh-ho  for  the  chase ! 
Keep  up  with  the  race ! 
As  the  wheel  whirls  we  rise  and  we  fall. 
Up  and  down  !    high  and  low ! 
To  the  grave  we  must  go 
And  the  worm  is  the  heir  of  it  all." 


DCS  f  tcdclmaiitis  SturmliccL 


Sfagen  unb  3Binb, 
§alb  taub  unb  fyalb  blinb 
2Bege§  ber  giebelmann  ^iefyt: 

bie  biinngraue  Sod' 
Unb  bie  Sod^er  im  9W 

tft  ber  Sturm  ifym  bie  SSeife  ^um  Sieb: 


(Siner  fi^>  ein, 
M  n)dre  fein— 

af  toofyl,  unb  gefegneten  Xraum! 
§ei,  fcfyimmernber  SBatt! 
@i  Better  ^riftatt! 

nur  toa^  fceffer,  al§  ©d^aum! 


i!   ©ntjtoei! 
llnb  2lEe§  tjorbei! 

Unb  ein  ^arr,  h)er  briiber  nodj)  n)eint! 
S)a3  ©lu(!  ift  blinb, 
Unb  bie  2ieb'  ift  ein  ^inb, 
Unb  ber  £ob  ift  ber  ftcfyerfte  greunb! 

33orbei!   SSorbei! 
^)a§  Dtoefy  unb  S^^ei! 
@§  bre^t  ft$  bag  Slab  tote  im  ©turm! 
§inauf  unb  ^inab! 
Wotti  atfe§  gu  (SJrab, 
Unb  ber  ein^ige  @rb'  ift  ber  SBurm!" 


So  he  fiddles  and  sings, 
Thin  and  hoarse  the  tune  rings 
And  soon  fades  away  into  naught 
'Mid  the  gale's  deafening  roar. 
I  see  him  no  more 
Yet  his  song  lingers  on  in  my  thought. 


—  <So  geigt  er  unb  fingt: 
(Sturm&rcwfen  berfcfylingt 

bie  flange  fyeifer  unb  bitnn! 
^»  ifyn  nic^t  me^r, 
bring'  tcfy  mir 


C'3] 


A 


The  Owl. 

LL  in  tHe  deepest  slumber  lies 
'Neath  the  full  moon's  light; 


Only  a  white  owl  that  flies 
Noiseless  through  the  night. 

Like  a  messenger  of  death 
Close  it  passed  in  flight; 
On  its  pinions  brings  a  breath,— 
Breath  of  awe,  not  fright. 


[-4] 


Die  6ule. 

im  <S$lummer  atte§  liegt, 

bom 

(Sine  toei^e  @ule  fliegt 
burd^  bie 


•JBte  ein  XobeSa^nen  glitt 
<Ste  t>0riiber  bic^t, 
35rmgt  h)o^(  letfen  ©djauer  mit 
Slber  ©d^redfen  ntc^t. 


Fire  at  Night. 

A  SCARLET  tongue  as  of  a  snake  is  licking 
Night's  cloak.     It  seems  to  creep 
And  stealthy  to  draw  near  and  ever  nearer 
Till  it  be  time  to  leap. 

The  ancient  night  her  starlit  mantle  gathers, 
This  enemy  she  dreads, 

When  all  at  once  the  flames  with  awful  splendour 
Break  forth  and  toss  their  heads. 


[16] 


NacbtUcber  Brand* 

lerft  am  bunflen  (Sawn  ber 
@ine  rote  ©cfylangengunge  : 
na^'  e§  Ieif'/  afe  na^  e§  facfyt 
Unb  tt)arte  ber 


©rfc^rocfen  ^te^t  bie  alte 

©ternenmantel  jufammen, 
$)a  fa^ren  em^or  in  fc^retfenber 
Unb  c>iitteln  i>r  §au>t  bie 


Summer-Dream. 

CLEAR  in  the  silent  pool 
Flickering  leaves  and  light, 
Motionless,  still  and  cool, 
Moon-pale  the  lilies  white  — 
Hear  the  reeds  swaying! 
Flashing  and  playing 
Like  an  elf's  spear 
Past  shoots  the  dragonfly 
Fearlessly  near. 

Lush-green  and  golden-brown 
Lures  me  the  moss  to  rest. 
Summer,  I  fain  sink  down 
Dreaming  upon  thy  breast  1 
Butterflies  dancing, 
Noiselessly  glancing, 
Play  hide  and  seek ; 
Flowers  with  kisses 
Are  brushing  my  cheek. 

Am  I  on  earth  or  no  ? 
Am  I  in  fairyland  ? 
Do  I,  now  high,  now  low, 
See  spirits  hand  in  hand 
Circling  around  me  ? 
Dreaming  they  found  me, 
Beckon  me  now  — 
Lo,  and  their  fairy  queen, 
Sweetheart,  art  thou ! 

[iS] 


Hm  Ufcr. 

Spielenb  im  ftitten 
Saubbacfy  unb 
Seelilie  monbenbleicfy, 
SBlaue  23ergi£meinnicfyt. 
(Saufeln  im  ©cfyilfe! 
(SHeid)  einer  (S^l^e 
Slinfenbem  ©peer 
©cfyofe  bie  Sibea 
•fteben  mir  ^er. 

liefer  unb  tiefer 
Socft  e§  in'g  grune 
(Sinle  fo  iuie  id)  bin, 
©ommer,  in  beinen 
gaiter  im  ^reife 
©auleln  fo  leife 
Seucfytenb  unb  bunt: 
Slumen  fie  liiffen  mir 
9Sangen  unb  3Jhmb. 


d^  auf 

im  geenlanb? 

balb  tief  balb 
©eifter  fid^  §anb  in  §anb? 
SSinfen  bom  33aume, 
2Sinlen  im  Straume 
Sdc^elnb  mir  §u.— 
llnb  i^r 
Siebd^en,  bift 


Past. 

THE  princess  and  her  husband 
On  marble  pillows  lie, 
Into  the  gray  cathedral 
The  light  slants  from  the  sky. 

It  touches  her  crowned  white  forehead, 
A  golden  kiss  it  steals, 
While,  kissing  her  foot  of  marble, 
One  there  in  silence  kneels. 

The  sunbeam  plays  astonished 
About  his  silvery  hair; 
The  sexton,  waiting,  wonders  — 
But  he  kneels  unaware. 


[20] 


Ycrgangcn. 

uf  martnornen  $fiil)len  f^lummern 

£)te  gitrftin  unb  tfyr  ©emafyl: 
ftiefylt  fidf)  tn§  graue  ^JJliinfter 
fUmmernber  (Sonnenftra^l. 


$)er  fii^t  i^r  bie  ^ronenfttrne 
Wl\t  einem  golbigen  ^u^— 
5(m  ©tab  Iniet  @iner  fdE)on  lange, 
lii^t  i^r  ben  ftetnernen 


Strati  f^ielt  i^m  beritwnbert 
2luf  bem  filberluet^en  §aar  ; 

toartet  ber  ^lifter, 
n>trb  e§  nidj)t  getoafyr. 


The  Fir-Tree. 

I  LOVED  a  fir  when  I  was  small, 
Left  in  the  meadow ;  straight  and  tall 
I  see  it  now,  meseems. 
There  leaned  I  oft  in  mist  and  wind 
And  listened  to  it  as  in  dreams. 

On  high  the  boughs  waved  over  me, 
To  my  young  heart  how  solemnly 
The  fir-tree's  sighing  spoke ! 
—  A  storm  of  autumn  over  night 
Its  deepset  foundation  broke. 

When  I  returned  in  the  morning  light 
Gigantic  towered  the  roots  upright, 
Grass  and  moss-covered,  ghostly  to  see, 
As  if  the  last  judgment  had  broken  the  tombs. 
Far  stretched  the  great  length  of  the  tree. 

A  child  again  myself  I  ween, 
In  mist  and  wind  I  lonely  lean 
And  gaze  into  the  tree. 
How  high  the  boughs  vault  overhead ! 
How  softly  they  speak  to  me ! 


[22] 


Ktndhettdtanne* 


3cfy  fyatt'  al§  $inb  eine  !£anne  lieb, 
$)ie  grofj  unb  einfam  iibrig  blieb 
2ln  flacfyem  SBief  enf  aume  ; 
3)a  ftanb  ic^  oft  in  3?ebel  unb  SSinb 
Unb  fyorcfyte,  n)ie  im  Xraume. 


bie 

SSie  ^at  ba§  ^aufc^en  fo  feierlid^ 
3n§  junge  §er^  gefprod^en! 
—  @§  ^at  ein  §erfcftfturm  iiber 
©te  au§  ber 


Unb  al§  icfy  lam  am  ?[Rorgen  brauf, 
£)a  ftarrten  bie  2Burgeln  fo  riefig  auf, 
S3ebetft  mit  3Jloo§  unb  Soben, 
3ll§  f^rengte  bie  ©raber  ber  jiingfte 
gern  ru^te  bie  ^ron'  am  Soben. 


-3c^  traume  mic^  mand^mal  toieber  ein 
3)  a  le^n'  icfy  einfam  in  9^ebel  unb  2Binb, 
Unb  blicf'  em)3or  am  SBaume: 
2Bie  toolben  bie  3n>eige  ficfy  iiber  mi^r 
9Sie  raufd^en  fie  facfyt  im  Xraume! 


What  Flies  in  the  Wind. 

WAS  it  a  brown  butterfly, 
Sent  a  harbinger  of  May? 
'T  was  a  withered  leaf  astray 
Of  the  summer  days  gone  by  ! 


tm  «Unde  f  Uegt* 

r'3  ein  brauner  ©cfymetterling, 
2)en  ber  Seng  gefenbet  ^at? 
Slc^,  e§  tear  ein  h>elfc«  Slatt 
3Son  bem  Sommer,  ber  Merging ! 


Os] 


The  Fairy  Glade. 

DIDST  ever  wander  at  high   noontide 
Alone  by  the  lake  on  the  mountain-side 
When  waveless  lie  the  waters  deep, 
When  wind  and  bird  'mong  the  branches  sleep? 

And  didst  thou  see  white  in  the  dusky  shade, 
By  the  rocks  that  darken  the  mossy  glade, 
A  maiden  alone  who  leans  dreaming  there, 
While  over  her  harp  falls  her  golden  hair  ? 

And  didst  thou  tarry  and  strain  thine  ear 
If  aught  of  melody  thou  couldst  hear? 
Well  might  be  heard  a  gnat's  low  trill  — 
A  sunbeam  flickers  and  all  is  still. 

There  is  a  day  when  summer  is  dead, 
When  the  birches  are  yellow,  the  beeches  red, 
When  rustling  leaves  on  the  footpath  lie 
And  blue  through  the  tree-tops  harkens  the  sky, 

Then  back  she  strokes  her  long  golden  hair 
And  the  chords  from  her  harp  and  her  song  fill  the  air, 
Then  the  mountains  listen,  then  listens  the  lake, 
The  haunting  notes  distant  echoes  wake. 

'Twere  folly  to  wish  thou  couldst  hear  her  lay 
Fraught  with  aimless  longing  and  autumn's  dismay. 
This  song  the  pale  hunter  heard  and  yearned, 
And  died  with  yearning  e'er  spring  returned. 


[26] 


Die  eifctibucbt. 


Hnb  gingft  2)u  je  im 
3n  ben  ftttten  Bergen  am  See  attein, 
28enn  ofyne  SSelle  bie  blaue  glut, 
SKenn  2Binb  unb  $ogel  tm  Saube  rufyt? 


Unb  fafcft  bu  bort,  too  ber  gelfen 
moofig  ^a'ngt  in  bie  ©Ifenbud^t, 
einfame  traumenbe  toeijje  ©eftalt, 
2Bie  i^r  ©olb^aar  iiber  bie  §arfe  toattt? 

Unb  fyaft  ^)u  ge^alten  ben  Obem  Bang, 
Db  ton'  ^eriiber  ein  ©aitenllang? 
Su  ^oren  toar*  etner  2Jttic!e  ©ef^riff 
—  2)er  (Sonnenftra^l  flimmert  unb  2lffe§  ftitt! 


@inen  Xag  nut  fott'§  geben  nac^  ©ornmer^  Xob, 
SSenn  bie  33ir!e  gelb  unb  bie  SBudje  rot, 
SBenn  ber  gufj  in  fattenben  Sla'tteVn  raufcfyt 
Unb  ber  §immel  blau  burcfy  bie 


2)ann  ftreift  fie  ^urucf  i^r  ©olbbaar  lang, 
£>ann  ^ebt  fie  ben  @ang  ju  ber  6aiten 
S)ann  ^orc^en  bie  S3erge,  bann  fyorcfyt  ber  6ee— 
toric^t  gu  n)iinf4>en,  ®u  ^orteft  i^n  je! 


$eine  ©eele  lann  fagen,  toie  ^erbftlid^  unb  bang, 

toogenb  in  giettofem  ©e^nen  ber  <Sang! 
2)er  bleic^e  3^9er  octna^m  ifyn  am  (See, 
2Bar  tot  »or  bent  grii^ling  an  fe^nenbem 


How  Children  Read. 

DID  e'er  you  see — but  no,  how  could  it  be! 
Still  't  is  a  pity,  for  it's  sweet  and  merry !  — 
How  my  small  daughter,  seventeen  months  old, 
Reads  in  her  father's  letters  and  his  books? 
How  sensibly  she  takes  hold  of  the  thing 
And,  following  with  her  finger  eagerly, 
Makes  use  of  all  her  tiny  store  of  words  : 
"  Papa,  mamma,  and  baba  and  bowwow," 
With  great  importance  and  strong  modulation  — 
(For  naturally  she  knows  not  one  iota  ! ) 
And  we,  her  parents,  —  let  him  laugh  who  will !  — 
We  listen  as  if  to  the  holy  Gospel 
And  say:  "How  beautifully  Eva  reads  1  " 
Then  she  looks  up  at  us  with  happy  pride. 

But  over  me  a  wondrous  feeling  comes : 
Beside  her  there  upon  the  little  bench 
I  seem  to  see  a  numerous  public,  all 
Intent  like  her  on  reading  eagerly, 
And  many  an  old  and  learned  man  among  them, 
(Also,  if  you  will  pardon  it,  myself, 
Although  I  know  I'm  neither  of  the  two,) 
They  hold  a  thousand  books,  both  small  and  big, 
Not  only  novels  these  and  fairy  tales, 
Quite  on  the  contrary!  great  weighty  volumes: 
The  book  of  art,  and  that  of  science  too, 
That  thick  gray  comfort-store,  world's  history, 
And  even  that  largest  —  hard  to  open  up!  — 
The  old  one,  that  bears  Nature  for  a  title  : 

[28] 


die  Kinder  lesen. 

Scfyt  3fyr  einmal—  toie  freilicfy  fofltet 
2)odj  ©cfyabe  bi'um,  benn  fyolb  unb  luftig  ift  e3 
26enn  meine  $leine,  fieb^efyn  SJlonben  alt, 
3n  2Sater§  SBiicfyern  ober  SBriefen  lieft? 
3Bie  fie  ba§  ^)ing  fd^on  fo  berftdnbig  anfa^t, 
2)en  3e^en  ^wfig  mit  bem  3inSer  folgt, 
tlnb  i^ren  gan^en  toin^gen  2B  otter  borrat  : 

^Jlama,  unb  33aba  unb  Saubau 
ungemeiner  SSic^tigleit  unb  mit 
minbrer  5!Jlobulierung  an  ben  9Jtann  bringt  — 
(2)enn,  tt)ie  natiirlic^,  fennt  fie  nocfy  lein  ^ota!) 
Unb  ft'vc,  bie  @ltern,  —  lad^'  un§  au§  tt»er  mag!  — 
2Bir  ^orc^en,  hrie  auf'^  ©bangelium 
Unb  fagen:   ,,@i,  tt>ie  fc^on  lann  @ba  lefen!" 
blidft  fie  ftolj  unb  gliitfltcfy  ^u  un§  auf. 


2Jlir  abet  h)irb  oft  tuunberlic^  babet 
3u  sJUlut  —  unb  auf  bem  33anfd)en  neben  iljx 
3ftein'  ic^  etn  gan§e§  gro^e§  ^ublilum 
5n  g(eid5>em  Sefctoerl  bertieft  ^u  fe^n; 
©ar  alt'  unb  fyodjgelefyrte  banner  brunter, 
(2luc^,  ba^  e3  9Ziemanb  iibel  nimmt,  mic^  felbft, 
Dbtoo^l  id^  eben  lein§  »on  beiben  bin) 
—Unb  ^alten  taufenb  llein'  unb  gro^e  33iicl)er, 
;Jtta)t  ettoa  5[Rdrc^en  unb  Montane  nur, 
3m  ©egenteil!  rec^t  t)ottgen>ic^t'ge  SBdnbe: 
2)er  ^iinfte  33u^>,  tote  ba§  bet  SOBiffenfc^aft, 
2)en  bidden  grauen  Crofter:   ,f2Beltgefc^i^te," 
©elbft  jene§  grofjte  —  fd^toer  nur  lla^t  fid&'g  auf! 


—  And  earnestly  and  loud  read  to  each  other 
And  follow  line  by  line  with  busy  fingers 

-  The  older  ones,  I  mean,  the  smallest  listen,  — 
But  many  a  one  holds  upside  down  the  book, 
And  A  to  Z,  I  fear,  dance  on  their  heads. 

But  the  great  Father,  think  I  to  myself, 
Looks  smiling  down  upon  this  little  world 
And  strokes  full  many  a  clever  head 
As  if  He  spoke :  "  How  well  the  child  can  read !  " 
But  to  Himself  He  says  :  "  Just  wait  a  while, 
When  I  some  day  shall  take  thee  on  my  knee 
And  teach  thee,  thou  wilt  learn  it  otherwise." 


[30] 


2>ag  alte,  bag  9tatur  betitelt  ift: 
—Hub  lefen  ernft  unb  laut  einanber  toor 

Unb  leiten  gettentoetg  ficfy  mit  ben  gtngern, 
—  S)ie  ©roftern  namlicb  —  ^leinfte  fyoren  ^u,— 

^Doc^  ^anc^er,  fiird^t'  icfy,  ^alt  ba§  33ud^  berle^rt 

Unb  21  bi§  3  ftefyt  luftig  auf  ben 


grofje  3Sater  aber,  ben!'  id^  mir, 
lac^elnb  nieber  auf  bie  fleine  2BeIt 
llnb  ftreid^elt  mandjeS  Huge  Sotfenlo^fc^en, 

frrdc^'  er:   ,,2Bie  bag  ^inb  fc^on  lefen  fann! 
©ttUen  aber  fagt  er:   ,,2Barte  nur: 

icfy  bid^  einft  auf'g  ^nie,  unb  le^re  bidji, 
3)ann  lernft  bu'3  anberg!" 


The  Virgin's  Picture. 

THE  great  wide  studio  was  still  that  day, 
That  used  to  be  so  gay,  so  full  of  life, 
With  noble  guests,  with  princes,  ladies,  warriors, 
Resounding  even  with  the  ringing  hoofs 
Of  Barbary  steeds  that,  gorgeously  decked  out 
With  gleaming  harnesses,  the  master  often 
Had  led  up  for  his  Algiers  battle-scenes. 
So  still  that  day,  you  would  have  said  it  mourned 
In  spite  of  all  its  rugs  and  shining  arms, 
As  of  an  Emir's  tent,  it  seemed  to  mourn 
With  all  its  great,  its  powerful  scenes  of  war. 

The  master  was  alone.     Silent  and  pale 
In  sombre  mood  he  sat  there,  with  his  feet 
Upon  a  lion's  skin ;    he  did  not  paint. 
And  brightly  on  the  palette  shone  the  colours, 
Before  him  stood  a  huge  unfinished  picture, 
And  yet  he  did  not  paint.     For  many  weeks 
He  had  not  even  touched  it  with  his  brush. 
Again  and  yet  again  his  German  pupil,* 
Shaking  his  troubled  head,  had  set  those  colours. 

His  dearest  child  had  died,  his  only  child, 
That  gift  of  heaven,  a  girl,  in  whom  his  heart 
And  soul  were  wrapped,  like  to  the  Virgin  Mary, 
Fair,  gentle,  wise  and  true.     Yea,  many  a  struggle 
Once,  years  ago,  indeed  it  cost  his  heart 

*Herr  S.  of  Mecklenburg.  It  was  from  him  that  the  author, 
when  on  a  visit  to  Horace  Vernet's  studio  in  1847,  heard  the 
following  incident. 


Gtn  Madonncnbild. 

5  tin  fyeute  tear  bie  toeite  SSerfftatt.     ©onft 
@o  frofylicfy  laut  toon  SDrdngen  unb  ©efprd 
dfte,  ^rtn^en,  grau'n  unb  $rieger, 
toon  ber  33erberpferbe  Ilingenbem  §uf, 
oft  ber  3Mfter,  ^rdc^ttg  aufge^aumt, 
3Sor  feine  SUgierfampfe  fii^ren  Ite^;— 
So  fttE  ^eut,  unb  2)u  f^rdd^ft,  fie  trauerte, 
bunten  2Be^r=  unb  Xe^^tc^fc^mutfg, 

mir§  3e^^  —  trauerte 
alien  tfyren  gro^en  ©tt)laa^tenbilbern. 


9Jleifter  tt)ar  aUein.     ©tumm,  ernft  unb  bletcfy 
er,  bte  gaij}'  auf  einer  Soh)enf)aut, 
tlnb  ntalte  nic^t.     2)ie  frifd^en  garben  gldn^ten 
2luf  ber  palette.     SRieftg  fcor  i^m  ftanb 
©in  unbottenbet  SBilb.     @r  malte  nid^t. 
<Seit  28o$en  n?ar  lein  ©tritt^  baran  gefcfyefyn, 
Unb  triib  ^o^ffa^iittelnb  ^atte  jene  garben 
<Sein  beutfa^er  ©filler*  oftmal  fcfyon  erfe^t. 

@ein  2iebfte§  toar  geftorben.     (Sine  Xoa^ter 
©ab  tfym  ber  §immel,  nur  ein  eingig  ^inb, 
Unb  feine  gange  ©eele  (>ing  an  i^r. 
§olbfelig,  fanft,  ein  93ilb  ber  Senebeiten 
^n  i^rem  h)eic^en  golbnen  Sodfen^aar, 
S$on,  Hug  unb  gut.     @o  mand^en  ^arten 
§att'  eg  bem  SBaterfyer&en  einft  geloftet, 


*  $err  ©d^t.  au«  3«c(fIcnBurg,  bem  ber  SBerfaffer  Bel  einem  33e= 
fud)  in  §orace  S3ernet'«  Atelier,  1847,  bte  2RitteUung  be«  OBigen 
git  banfett  ^atte. 

[33] 


To  give  this  only  child  to  him  who  loved  her. 
—  He  also  was  a  light  among  the  painters 
And  earnest  in  his  art,  as  few  were  then  —  * 
And  yet  the  father  gave  her.     She  was  still 
His  own,  his  dearest  daughter  after  all  1 
And  what  a  festival  when  she  would  come 
With  her  two  noble  boys,  Horace  and  Paul, 
And  all  good  angels  seemed  to  come  with  her! 
And  when  she  played  and  sang  those  sweet  old  songs 
Heard  once  in  Italy  or  yet  at  home. 
All  that  was  over.     She  had  died.     Had  art, 
That  comfort-giver,  had  it  died  with  her  ? 
It  would  no  more  console  him.     By  the  Gods  ! 
His  lion  nature  had  at  times  waked  up 
In  flaming  anger,  had  called  forth  to  work 
His  fiery  genius  !  —  Powerless  once  more 
'Twas  overcome,  and  smothered  by  his  pain. 

So  too  that  day.     How  still  the  studio  was ! 
But  hark !   What  heard  he  in  the  court  below  ? 
A  sweet,  familiar  air  fell  on  his  ears, 
Played  by  a  pair  of  simple  shepherds'  pipes. 
Ah,  well  he  knew  it  1     When  in  Italy 
He  traveled  with  his  daughter,  many  times 
They  heard  this  tune  at  Christmas-tide,  played  by 
Those  sunburnt  men  that  you  may  know  from  pictures, 
With  sandals  on  their  feet,  in  sheepskin  coats, 

-  They  call  them  pifferari  —  and  they  play 
Before  the  Virgin's  image.     His  lost  child 
Had  loved  those  simple  tunes  beyond  all  else. 

*Paul  Delaroche. 

[34] 


$)em  3Jlanne  fie  511  geben,  ber  fie  liebte; 
—  2lu$  er  ein  Defter  ©tern  ber  -Sftalerei, 
@rnft  in  ber  ftunft,  tote  toen'ge  fetner  Beit—  * 
S)odj>  gab  er  fie.     @ie  blieb  j|a  immer  fein, 
SBlieb  ja  fein  linb!    Unb  toeldjer  Subel  toar% 
2Benn  fie  mit  ifyren  fyolben  $naben  lam, 
unb  $aul,  unb  aUe  guten  ©enien 
i^r,  fo  fcl^ien'g,  —  toenn  iDteber  i^r  ©efang, 
gfyr  (S^)ie(  erllang,  bie  lieben  alten  £ieber, 
3)ie  fie  in  2Belf$lanb  unb  ba^etm  geJ)ort 
tlnb  lieblid^  nad^fang.     2)a§  tuar  nun  borbet. 
©ie  iuar  geftorben.     2Bar'§  bie  $unft  mit  i^rx 
5Die  milbe  Strofterin?    @ie  troftete 
9^ic^t  mefyr.     S3eim  §immel,  ^itrnenb  mand^mal  fyatte 
3n  i^m  ber  alte  Seu  fid^  aufgerafft, 
§att'  atte  glammengeifter  feiner  ©eele 
2ln'§  9Berl  gerufen!   5Kad^tlo§  tourben  fie 

t>erfc§eud^t.    Unb  alfo  ging'§  audj) 


2Bie  ftitt  e§  ftmr!   2)oc^  ^orc^,  auf  einmal  Hang 

§ofraum  brau^en  eine  fanfte  SSeife, 
ber  ein  $aar  t>on  §irten^)feifen  fic^ 

toerbunben.     2(c^,  er  lannte  fie! 
er  in  SSelfd^lanb  mit  ber  ^ocfyter  n)eilte, 

fie  oft  $ur  ^olben  2Beii)nac^t^eit 
jenen  braunen  3Rannern,  bie  3^r  toofyl 
33ilbern  fennt,  im  Sammerblie^,  ©anbalen 
2lm  5u^er  —  ^ifferari  nennt  man  fie,  — 
$)ie  t>or  ben  S3ilbern  ber  5Kabonn 

biefe  fcfylic^ten  SBeifen 


[35] 


They  pierced  the  master's  heart :  with  tear-dimmed  eyes 
He  quickly  rose  and  opened  wide  the  door. 

Yes,  these  were  men,  as  I  have  just  described, 
Whom  others'  greed,  —  whose  greed  I  do  not  know  — 
Enticed  to  leave  their  flocks  and  come  to  Paris. 
The  thoughtful  German  who  had  heard  them  play  there 
Had  summoned  them  in  secret  to  Versailles 
To  try  and  cheer  the  master's  troubled  mind. 

Now  they  had  finished,  and  with  open  hands 
The  master  gave,  and  in  their  native  tongue 
He  spoke  with  open  heart  to  the  two  men. 
"  You  have  another  air,"  he  said,  "  still  sweeter 
Than  those  you  played ;  you  know  which  one  I  mean  ! 
Oh,  play  that  too !     My  dear  child  loved  it  best ! 
—  Why  do  you  hesitate?" 

"  Signor !  "  they  said, 
"Yes,  we  were  told  before  which  air  you  mean: 
The  song  of  praise  to  our  most  Blessed  Lady  1 
But  as  you  lived  in  Rome  you  also  know 
We  never  play  it  but  before  an  image 
Of  God's  thrice  Holy  Mother !    We  see  none !  " 

With  weary  smile  the  master  said  :   "  You  are  right, 
I  had  not  thought  of  that.     Be  patient,  pray, 
And  you  shall  see  her !  " 

—  Silently  and  swift 

In  charcoal  with  a  few  light  strokes  he  drew  her 
Upon  the  nearest  wall,  great,  smiling,  mild, 
Holding  the  Christ-Child  - 

"  Ecco  la  Madonna!" 
[36] 


often  gern.     2)em  -Jfteifter  ging'3 
Unb  naffen  2(uge3  trat  er  fcor  bie 


@§  toaren  banner,  tme  icfy  fie  befcfyrieb, 
$)ie  frembe  §abfu$t,  —  toeffen,  toeifj  i$  nicfyt, 
3Son  i^ren  §erben  H§  $ari§  berlocft. 
3)er  treue  2)eutfd^e  fyatte  fie  gef^ort 
Unb  f)eim(ic^  fyergebeten  nad^  SSerfaiHe^, 
3Jletfter§  triibeS  (Stnnen  ^u  er^eitern. 


e  enbeten.     3Jlit  tooHen  §dnben  gab 
5[Reifter,  boffen  §er^en§  rebet'  er 
n  i^rer  eignen  (S^rad^e  $u  ben  3Jldnnern. 
^r  ^abt  nod)  eine  SKeife,"  f^rad^  er,  ,,f$oner, 
biefe!   SBelc^e,  toi^t  Sfyr!   ©^ielt  aud^  fie! 
5(m  meiften  Itebte  fie  mein  tote^  Slinb! 


!"  berfeijten  fie, 

fagt'  un3  toofyl,  toelcfy'  eine  2Bei§'  3$r  meint: 
Soblieb  auf  bie  Slfterf eligfte ! 

2Bir  f^ielen  niemal^  bieg,  alg  bor  bem 
©nabenmutter !   Unb  it>ir  fefyen 


lifter  lac^elte  mit  triibem  SBlic!: 

^r  foftt  fie  fe^n!" 

— Unb  ftift,  mit  einer  $ofyle 
n  toenig  leid^ten  3u9en  &ei$net'  er 
>ie  auf  bie  ncicfyfte  2Banb,  gro§,  lad^elnb,  milb, 
$inb  am  33ufen— 

"Ecco  la  Madonna!" 

[37] 


And  as  if  touched  by  heavenly  hand  they  sank 
Down  on  their  knees,  those  sons  of   the  Campagna, 
As  if  at  Bethlehem.     Unconsciously 
Into  their  pipes  they  breathed  the  fervent  song 
That  he  had  asked  them  ^er.     The  master  wept. 


[38] 


Unb  in  bie  $niee  fanfen,  fruie  fceritfyrt 
2Son  gimmel^anb,  bie  ©ofyne  ber  Gampagna, 
21B  toar'g  gu  Set^le^em.    Unb  unbetougt 
3n  ifyre  ^loten  quoE  ba§  fromme  Sieb, 
er  Bege^rt.     5Der  Sttetfter  aber  toeinte. 


[39] 


A  Dilemma. 

YOU  ask  me  if  I  am  a  painter  — 
Or  poet  ?     Why  not  both,  I  pray  ? 
If  one,  I  am  the  other  surely! 
Regret  or  envy  it  who  may ! 

Well  did  I  hear  your  guarded  whisper, 
Although  you  dared  not  speak  aloud : 
"Far  better  one  gift  were  denied  you, — 
One  is  enough  for  one ! "  you  vowed. 

Which  one  for  me,  good  sirs,  I  pray  you  ? 
Ah,  let  me  humbly  say  to  you : 
I  was  allowed  to  ask  the  question 
Of  painters  and  of  poets  too. 

"  As  one  of  us  you  have  been  chosen," 
Said  artists  then  whom  you  all  know, 
And  poets,  too,  of  reputation 
Said,  "  No,  with  us  you  are  born  to  go ! " 

Without  their  pledge  I  should  have  known  it, 
How  far  their  words  are  right  or  wrong  ; 
But  should  I  pluck  out  of  my  bosom 
The  gift  of  painting  or  of  song? 

You  know  it  not  —  how  should  you  know  it? 
What  doubt  and  strife  they  brought  to  me  ! 
The  roots  of  both  are  interwoven 
About  my  heart  inseparably. 

[40] 


Gin  Dilemma. 

idj>  ein  dialer,  fragt  3^  ™ 
Db  ein  $oet?    SOBarum  nicf>t 
2Benn  @in§  ba§  Slnbre  ficfyerlicfy! 
Unb  ioer  ba  toitt,  beflag'  unb  neib' 


ob  3^r'0  juft  nid^t  laut  getoagt, 
'  tc^>'§  fliifternb  toofyl  bernommen 
,,2Beit  beffer,  @in§  blieb'  3)ir  t>erfagt: 
3)enn  @ine§  nur  mag  @inem  frommen." 


Unb  S&elcfyeS  mir,  3^r  lieben  §err'n? 
Sajjt  @tolje§  mid^  befc^eiben  fagen: 
3$  burfte  fcfyon,  unb  moc^te  gern 
§Bei  5UlaIern  unb  $oeten  fragen. 


5Da  f^rac^en  3Kaler,  bie  Sfyr  lennt: 
,,21B  Unfereing  bift  $u  geboren." 
Unb  2)id^ter  fagten,  bie  man  nennt: 
,,$)u  bift  mit  un§  gu  ge^n  erloren!" 


Unb  ofyne  fie  ^dtt'  id^'g  getoufct, 
i<^  Don  2)em  unb  3enem  ^cibe, 
rei^en  fottt'  ic^  au§  ber  Sruft 
ober  2)ic)ten§  ©abe? 


Sfyr  totfet  e§  nid^t—  tote  fotttet  Sfyr! 
Db  id^  ge^toeifelt  unb  gerungen! 
D,  Seiber  SSurjeln  ^aben  mir 
Untrennbar  ficfy  um'^  §erj  gefcfyhmgen! 


I  should  uproot  them  both,  and  even 
With  them  I  should  wrench  out  my  heart ! 
They  grew  and  interlaced  the  closer 
Wherever  they  were  cut  apart. 

And  if  I  drifted  like  a  woman 
With  twin  boys  on  a  broken  mast, 
And  Death  allowed  to  save  one  only, 
Yet  to  the  mother  both  clung  fast  — 

One  overboard  !  is  Death's  stern  bidding, 
She  now  must  choose,  the  end  is  nigh  — 
Not  so  !    Both  children  close  enfolding, 
Both  she  and  I  would  rather  die! 


unb  biefeS  mit, 
%fy  fttyl'S  am  2Befy  fc^on  beim  ©ebanlen 
Unb  glaubt  mir,  too  man  fie  gerfd^nitt, 
2)a  flo^ten  bitter  fid^  bie  3fanfen! 


Unb  n)dr'  ic^,  toie  auf  morfdjem 
mit  ifyren  3^i^n9^ 
$u  retten  gonnt  ber 
SBeibe  llammern  fid^  unb  toeinen  ! 


iiber  33orb!   Sie  ^at  gemu^t, 
§at  n)d^len  miiffen  gut  ©elunbe! 
D  nein,  mit  SBeiben  an  ber  Sruft, 
©efyt  Ueber  fie  —  unb  icfy  ju  ©runbe! 


[43] 


GAytAMOUNT 

PAMPHLET  BINDER 


6AYLORD  BROS.  !„«. 
Syr«u*«,  N.  Y. 
Stockton,  Celff. 


